Returning of the Native

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Anderson, of a Painter

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Reached a nerve, reached the might
That doused the fire and doused the light
Heard cries of mothers under stones
Broken souls, broken bones

Felt the hunger, felt the lash
Tasted blood, tasted grass
Saw young daughters sold for flour
Childhood wane by the hour

Bought our way across Pakistan
To Allahabad and Thailand
Worked our way down through Sumatra
Took a beat-up boat out of eastern Java

Drifted through the Timor Sea
Lifted by the joy of the family
Finding that feeling of elation
As our hands touched the soil of a better nation
But the hell of a desert cell
The cut of the razor wire!
My lips are itching, still, from the stitching
The screams of the hunger choir!

Not much more to say
From the floor of an Afghan gaol
A country dedicated
To the returning of the native

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